Deadly Harm

by Owen Mullen

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘Yes, I do. You said DI Geddes talked to you about me. Then he must’ve told you my story and what I do now. I’ve come across dozens of Kirstys. Before I’m finished, I’ll probably meet hundreds. And it always ends the same. Either they find the courage to break free or they go down. Believe me, Alison won’t be able to look at you – she’ll hate you. Or worse, pity you. Either way you’ll lose her.’

  Kirsty’s eyes strayed to the pram, concern in them for the first time, and Mackenzie realised she was getting through. Andrew Geddes called her a kid. That kid had known more unhappiness in her eighteen years than most people suffered in a lifetime. Her attitude was a coping mechanism to protect her from a harsh world. To understand how badly she’d been broken meant seeing behind the rebel façade. What must it be like to be afraid of the past and even more afraid of the future? Mackenzie desperately wanted to help her.

  Alison stirred in her sleep.

  ‘When she’s old enough to understand, think how proud she’ll be of her mum.’

  Kirsty nervously played with the lighter – not convinced – the sum of all her fears crystallised in one question. ‘How can I be sure Malkie won’t find us?’

  Mackenzie had an answer for her. ‘He won’t know where you are. Nobody will. Not even me. Not even Detective Geddes. That’s how it works. Social Services deal with situations like this every day.’ As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew she’d made a mistake; the girl reacted. ‘A “situation”. Is that how you see me? Just a problem that needs to be fixed?’

  ‘No, of course not. You’re in trouble. Somebody has to take your hand and lead you to a better place. A safer place.’

  ‘And that’s you, is it?’

  ‘That’s one of the jobs Social Services do.’

  ‘Why should I trust them just because you tell me to? It’ll be me and Alison he’ll come after, not you.’

  ‘But he won’t find you. You’ll be safe. Safe as houses.’

  Kirsty bowed her head, the rebel who’d arrived with the DI gone, leaving a frightened girl in her place, speaking so quietly Mackenzie could hardly make out what she was saying. When she did, she felt for her. ‘Why can’t we stay with you?’

  ‘Kirsty…’

  ‘We won’t be any trouble, honestly we won’t.’

  Mackenzie swallowed hard. ‘I thought DI Geddes explained. We’re full. There isn’t any room at the refuge. I wish there was.’

  ‘Is it because of Alison?’

  ‘No, no, of course not.’

  ‘She’s a great baby, really she is. She never cries. If you knew her, you’d love her.’

  Mackenzie couldn’t remember when she’d felt so useless – turning the girl and her child away was painful. But the refuge was full. Caitlin had got the last bed. Surely the detective hadn’t led Kirsty to believe there was a space for her.

  ‘I’m sure I would.’

  Kirsty grabbed Mackenzie’s arm. ‘Please don’t make her suffer because her mother’s been a stupid bitch. Please!’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  The businessmen hadn’t heard and went on with their meeting, but the receptionist looked up from her PC, and across the lounge Andrew Geddes was rising out of his seat. Mackenzie shook her head and he sat back down. Gently, she took the girl’s hands in hers. ‘It isn’t about you or Alison. Honestly, it isn’t. If we had room, I’d have both of you there today.’

  Kirsty pulled her fingers free. ‘Then why bring us here? Why did he want me to meet you?’

  She deserved the truth. ‘Because he cares about you and he’s worried. He hoped I could persuade you to let Social Services take over before Malkie comes out of Barlinnie.’

  ‘He’s getting out next week.’

  ‘I know. There isn’t much time.’

  Kirsty didn’t hide her disappointment. ‘I told Alison we’d be going with you. What will I say to her now?’

  8

  The call Mackenzie had been dreading came the next morning. The previous day from the front door of the hotel, she’d watched the sad little band drive away, knowing she’d failed all of them. During the night with the shadows of the trees at the bottom of the garden playing on the bedroom wall, she’d tossed and turned, unable to sleep, hearing Kirsty’s voice begging her not to reject Alison, and her own pathetic apology.

  Geddes’s first word took her by surprise. ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘Kirsty? She’s going to do it?’

  ‘Yep, she’s agreed to let Social Services take over.’

  Mackenzie closed her eyes. ‘Thank God. I haven’t stopped thinking about her. Tell me what happened.’

  Exactly the reaction he’d hoped for. ‘I will. Tonight, over dinner. Pick you up at seven-thirty.’

  Before she could object, the line went dead and she was left with the phone in her hand and a smile on her face which wasn’t only about Kirsty McBride.

  Nobody knew about Andrew Geddes or Kirsty McBride, but the women sensed something was different. All day, Mackenzie – normally so in control – seemed distracted. When Doreen answered the door, she understood why. Apart from Gavin, Mackenzie’s brother, they didn’t get many men visiting the refuge. This one had clearly made an effort: the sharp creases in the trousers of his suit suggested they hadn’t been worn often and the white shirt was crisp enough to have just come out its box.

  Doreen eyed him up and down. ‘Can I help you?’

  In his twenty-three years on the force, Geddes wasn’t known for being shy. His reputation as a no-nonsense copper able to switch from coaxing to confrontation in a heartbeat, rarely considering authority or who he offended, was earned. This was different. That night he was Andrew, about to have dinner with a beautiful woman. He struggled to get the words out. ‘Mackenzie’s… expecting me.’

  On cue, Mackenzie came down the stairs. Most of her afternoon had gone into deciding what to wear, finally she’d chosen a simple black dress with matching pearl necklace and earrings. From the expression on the detective’s face, it had been time well spent.

  ‘You look wonderful.’

  ‘What were you expecting, sheepskin jacket and tatty old jeans?’

  ‘I’m sure that would’ve been great too.’

  ‘Don’t scrub up too bad yourself.’

  The reply was modest. ‘I do the best with what I’ve got.’

  ‘And what you’ve got’s just fine.’

  Geddes was relieved; they were off to a good start.

  In the car, Mackenzie asked, ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘It’s a surprise.’

  ‘Sounds interesting.’

  The DI grinned. ‘Hoping it’s better than interesting.’

  Through the window, night closed in round familiar landscapes and Mackenzie realised she was excited. Geddes kept his eyes on the road, heading towards Stepps. Neither spoke, but the silence was comfortable. When they joined the M73, Mackenzie noticed his hands steady on the wheel, the fingers surprisingly slim and tapered for such a big guy, and wondered if there had ever been a wedding ring on one of them. It was possible – he was on the other side of forty – plenty of opportunity to have been married and divorced. On the surface, she wouldn’t have said he was her type. Did she actually have a type? Manly rather than handsome. Though she didn’t know him well, she trusted the dour detective.

  At Bothwell, Geddes took the exit onto the East Kilbride expressway and drove up the hill. In the passenger seat, Mackenzie mimicked a child’s voice. ‘Are we nearly there yet?’

  He laughed. ‘It’s worth the wait. I’ve booked for eight thirty. They like you there half an hour before.’

  ‘Sounds posh. Hope I’m dressed up enough.’

  He glanced across, his eyes lingering for a second on her slender legs. ‘Wouldn’t worry on that score.’

  Mackenzie was right: Crossbaskets Castle in High Blantyre was very posh. Geddes had been fortunate to get a table at short notice.

  They w
ere met at the door and escorted inside. She whispered, ‘My sister suggested we come here years ago. It never happened. How do you know about it?’

  ‘An old superintendent of mine had his leaving do here – the dinner not the booze-up. That was in a pub in Shawlands where instead of throwing you out at closing time, they lock you in. Don’t remember half of it. Hangover lasted a week.’

  ‘Not worth it, is it?’

  Geddes suddenly remembered she didn’t drink and reassured her. ‘Just so you know. I’ll be sticking to water tonight.’

  ‘Might be a smart move, Andrew.’

  The response surprised him.

  ‘Policeman? Drink driving?’

  ‘Oh yeah, got it. That wasn’t what I meant.’

  ‘I know. I’m joking.’

  The meal was one of the best Mackenzie had ever had; refined and delicious. Across the pristine white table cover, Andrew Geddes listened, studying her face while she filled in the details about how the refuge came to be. When she finished, he said, ‘What you’ve achieved is amazing.’

  ‘Sometimes I think I haven’t done anything really.’

  He shook his head. ‘You’re too modest. Because of you, Kirsty McBride and her daughter are going to be all right. At least take credit for that.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘I do. Kirsty’s deep. Most people won’t get through to her, wouldn’t much matter who they were. But you did. She was a different girl in the car going home. Still wary, mind. Still a dour wee bugger. I’ve been around her enough to know she’s frightened of more than Malkie Boyle. Being a single parent scares the life out of her.’

  ‘That’s understandable.’

  ‘’Course it is.’ Andrew toyed with his napkin. ‘I have a confession to make.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I could’ve told you this on the phone. I wanted to do it in person. You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Thanks to you she’ll get the help she needs.’

  ‘Only sorry I couldn’t do more.’

  Inevitably, the conversation moved to Geddes. At first he was guarded, not used to talking about himself especially with a female, aware an ill-chosen remark could spoil the evening. The common ground he shared with this woman was tenuous and in the past. Wisely, he avoided revisiting it. By the time their desserts came, he was comfortable enough to apologise.

  ‘I’m sorry about the other day.’

  Mackenzie was taken aback. ‘What on earth for?’

  ‘Putting you on the spot. Asking if Kirsty could stay at the refuge. It wasn’t fair.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. What choice did you have? She’d refused to speak to the police or Social Services. You were trying to protect her. And you have. She’s safe.’

  safe as houses

  Geddes spooned chocolate mousse into his mouth and waited until he’d swallowed.

  ‘Malkie won’t be pleased when he discovers they aren’t where he can terrorise them.’

  ‘What do you think he’ll do?’

  ‘Nothing he can do. No way of knowing where Kirsty and Alison are. Doesn’t take a big brain to guess it won’t be long before he’s back inside. Seen it before. His whole life’s mapped out already. Eventually, guys like him run out of steam. They get old.’

  ‘Sad when you think of it. Probably had a tough time when he was young.’

  ‘Sad isn’t the description I’d use. Boyle’s a cowardly sadistic thug who thinks he’s going to live for ever. One morning he’ll wake up and realise nobody’s afraid of him anymore. He’ll have had his day. Until then, so long as Kirsty and Alison aren’t his victims, I’m happy.’

  Mackenzie hoped for better, even for Malkie Boyle. ‘Maybe it doesn’t have to end that way. Maybe he’s learned his lesson.’

  The detective had lived too long and seen too much to consider it. He shied away from disagreeing and changed the subject. ‘If my memory serves me, the petit fours are fantastic here. Coffee?’

  ‘Yes please, Americano?’

  Geddes signalled a waiter and ordered. Mackenzie picked up where she’d left off. ‘Losing his partner and his daughter could be the best thing that’s ever happened to him.’

  ‘I admire your faith in human nature. Lost mine long ago.’

  ‘You don’t think it’s possible?’

  ‘I’m certain it’s impossible. The guy’s doomed. People like him don’t find Jesus. They destroy and keep destroying. That’s why what you managed to do is so important. He’s going down sure as the sun comes up tomorrow. The great thing is, he won’t be taking Kirsty with him.’

  The coffee arrived. Mackenzie stirred brown sugar into her cup. ‘Will you keep an eye on him?’

  ‘No need, he’s going where he’s going with or without my assistance.’

  Mackenzie believed the detective, although the world-weary cynic he’d become was a lot less attractive than the policeman working on his own time to help a teenage girl. Talking shop had been a mistake and they both knew it.

  ‘Anyway. Change of subject. Tell me about you. Anything – what’s your biggest fear?’

  He squirmed inside. Given this woman’s abduction, a clumsy choice of words.

  Mackenzie didn’t hesitate. ‘Heights. Can’t stand them. I always want to jump. And you, what makes a big hard policeman want his mum?’

  ‘Spiders. Hate them. Always have.’

  The thought of this burly guy running from a spider made her laugh.

  ‘Only happy it amuses you,’ Geddes said. ‘What’ve you got planned for the weekend?’

  ‘So far nothing, but I’d like to get everybody out of the refuge. We spend too much time there. It isn’t good for us.’

  ‘Anything in mind?’

  ‘A night at the movies might be an idea.’

  ‘What about – instead of a night, make it a day – at the seaside?’

  ‘The seaside? Never thought of that. Might be fun. Have to wait until next week though, the minivan’s due to go in for a service. But yes, a great idea.’

  He waited, hoping she’d suggest he come with them, disappointed when she didn’t. His question had been about her, not the refuge. Insecurity washed through him. Maybe she wouldn’t want to go out with him again.

  She reached for her bag. ‘I really enjoyed tonight. Let’s split the bill.’

  Geddes leaned over and put his hand on her arm. ‘That won’t be happening. I asked you, remember?’

  ‘Promise you’ll let me pay next time.’

  Geddes took a credit card from his wallet and stopped himself from smiling; there was going to be a next time.

  9

  Mackenzie had known the reaction she’d get as soon as she’d phoned her sister to tell about Andrew Geddes.

  Adele didn’t mince her words. ‘That’s wonderful.’

  ‘You don’t think it’s too soon?’

  ‘Too soon? It’s been five years.’

  ‘We’re not all as tarty as you, you know.’

  ‘Aren’t you? It’s bloody time you were.’

  They laughed. ‘We’re going to the seaside next week,’ Mackenzie said. ‘Not Andrew and me. Thought a day out would do everybody at the refuge good. Why don’t you come with us?’

  ‘I’d love to and I would, except now I’m back working four days a week I’m struggling to stay up to date with things. Takes it out of you when you’re not used to it. All I’m fit for on Saturday afternoon is curling up on the couch with a video and a box of chocolates. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of inviting Gavin and Monica and the kids over for dinner. Can’t cancel, although I’m not really up for it. Marks and Spencer will need to come to the rescue.’

  ‘You’ll love it, you know you will. Anyway, the children will soon liven you up.’

  Adele returned to what interested her. ‘When are you seeing your detective again?’

  ‘Sunday. And he isn’t my detective.’

  ‘Tell him I said hello.’

  ‘
I will.’

  ‘And remember. Life’s short. Be sure you’re making the most of it.’

  She rang off.

  Through the open kitchen window a weak sun shone in a vanilla sky. Rain was forecast and it was cold. Not cold enough to stop a group of women from working in the garden. Sylvia’s east coast accent travelled on the air. She’d assumed her usual role as organiser, now and then taking the trowel or the pruning shears to show what she wanted the other women to do.

  ‘That’s it, that’s the way. Don’t hold back, be ruthless. You’re encouraging the growth hormones to do their stuff.’

  Firm but kind. Accepting things as they were. Using her experience to encourage those who were struggling to find a place in life – a gift not everyone was fortunate enough to possess. Sylvia Scott was someone you’d be lucky to have on your side. Unlike the others, the refuge wasn’t a halfway house; it was her home, the women who came through the doors surrogates for the daughters who’d turned their backs on her. And when they arrived with their spirit crushed and their self-esteem at rock bottom, she was there to mother them. Without meaning to, the grey-haired lady from Corstorphine had found almost as much as she’d lost. The world outside held nothing for her now: Mackenzie doubted Sylvia would ever leave.

  Autumn wasn’t as hectic as spring when the planting was done. At this time of year, the objective was keeping the place ordered and tidy. Every April they hired a couple of men from Lennoxtown to do the heavier jobs. The rest they took care of themselves. Good therapy, apart from anything else.

  Caitlin was kneeling on a mat beside Irene and Alice, the three of them bent forward, talking and laughing as they tidied the flowerbeds. In the time since Mackenzie had found her unconscious behind the wheel of the car on the Strathblane Road, Caitlin had become a different person. Mackenzie would hear her talking about the books the others were reading, or discussing music with Sylvia. Jazz of all things. One evening in the lounge, a guitar was produced and she’d delighted them by singing Sting’s Fields of Gold, filling the room with a beautiful clear voice.